


abyss (swallow me whole)

by choimiah



Category: GOT7
Genre: 2Jae, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 04:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6689554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choimiah/pseuds/choimiah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alcohol does things to people. It distorts reality. Youngjae doesn't drink, but his lips have tasted the evil and he is wasted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	abyss (swallow me whole)

Maybe it’s the slanted rain pouring in fat, sloppy stripes from the dark, crowded expanse of sky. Or it could be the way that the clouds are huddled together, edges overlapping and a muddled purple-grey hue, all in a sad circle that reflects the barren choir room’s energy. Sad and puny. Or, it might just be the flyer once hung on the corkboard with unbridled enthusiasm which now resembles a call for murder, a terrible omen. It’s most probably a mix of all of these things that is contributing to Youngjae’s foul mood, shoulders slumped and shrunken in a hard, blue chair, spirit deflated like a balloon without any air. Youngjae is a balloon that someone has neglected to blow up.

Why does fate despise him? He’d love to know the answer.

“Can we go home?” Wei, the only Chinese boy in their team despite Youngjae’s adamant pushing for a wider range of backgrounds, asks from his perch on the risers. His speaking up rouses some of the other members who were previously just sitting, dazed and spacy. There are only seven of them, including Youngjae. But, it feels they are spread out with enough space in between them for an abyss to split the earth and swallow them all whole.

“I mean, we’re just sitting here, all depressed. What’s the point?” Wei elaborates. “If we don’t have the money and aren’t going to practice, I could be at home doing homework.”

Youngjae can’t blame him. He’s just wasting everyone’s time sitting here in a dim room in silence. Just wasting time.

“Yeah.” Youngjae stands, giving them each a smile that he hope doesn’t look as strained and defeated as it feels on his tired face. “I guess we’re done for the day. I’ll post in the group chat when we’ll meet next week.”

Wei cocks his head and his right eyebrow hikes up on his spacious forehead, skin creasing. Youngjae inwardly shudders at the explicit gesture; he’s basically saying why even meet if they don’t have the money and are just going to sit around like sacks of nothing, staring at each other and the wall in silence? It’s a valid, unspoken question that Youngjae has no answer for. He has a ridiculous notion that next week they’ll magically come across a neat, little bag of funds from the student council office waiting for them at the door. That won’t happen. He’s not stupid, just stupidly hopeful, and that’ll kill them quicker than anything else.

“Bye, guys.” Youngjae turns his back to face the outdated blackboard under the guise of collecting his things. He’s only taking his scores of music and shuffling them uselessly to avoid all and any eye contact. If he has to see one more heartbroken frown he’ll really just slam his skull into the ground. Nothing disturbs and unsettles him more than a distressed face, and more importantly, him being the cause for it. He hears the risers creak and moan, feels the vibrations as down trodden feet walk in a group, one filing sadly after the other out of the door. Youngjae responds to a few farewells in a fake-cheery tone.

Once he thinks everyone has left he turns back around, only to be met with the cold, rigid stare of Wei, squinting in speculation.

“Can you just ask him, for us?” Wei asks, burying his hands in the pockets of his ripped jeans. He looks like a fine statue. The unfortunate truth is that he’s not, he is a real person waiting for a real answer. As much as Youngjae is disappointed, the thought of asking Im Jaebum for anything strikes anger in him, hatred even. He’s come this far on his own two feet, trained a team that actually has a chance of winning something, and at the last minute, in the way of his autonomic success, is Jaebum. Like always.

“I’ll try,” Youngjae says, eyes downcast and fingers needlessly busy.

“Is it so hard?” That catches Youngjae’s attention more than it should. He looks up, directly into Wei’s eyes. As always, he’s endlessly curious and stubborn. Such a plain question shouldn’t affect him as much as it does. He’s heard that same question out of different lips and under various situations. He has never had an answer and this time is no different.

“You said you had homework?” Youngjae raises his lips in a smile that feels as plastic as it actually is. Wei nods, slowly, and rises slow as well. He hikes his bag on his shoulder and descends the risers. He claps a hand on Youngjae’s shoulder before he leaves, squeezes in a way that makes Youngjae nod in understanding. He gets it.

“Later, hyung.”

When Wei has left he finally gets that feeling of being utterly alone. His soul drops to his ankles and he’s too tired to haul it back up in position. Months of preparation wrought nothing in the end. Once he’s done wallowing in his own pitiful situation like a milksop he grabs his jacket from the closet with the choir robes and pulls it on. He stares at the key to the choir room for a long time; he might never have a use for it again. What would the point in teasing himself? More disappointment?

After some thinking he drops it in his coat pocket and leaves.

As Youngjae is resting against his car, letting the drizzle wash his mind of any and all dignity, he resists the urge to hop in it and ride off in a cloud of panic and urgency. He’d like nothing more, but his team is depending on him. Their last chance to compete in this year rides on his shoulders. If he won’t do it for himself then he’ll do it for his team.

“Long time no see, beautiful.”

Youngjae suppresses all of it. He opens his eyes against the arctic wind and pivots to the left. Jaebum only looks a little different than the young man he passes in the hall on most days. He isn’t just passing him by this time. Youngjae wishes he just would.

His dyed auburn fringe is lying messy and unkempt on his smooth forehead, framing dark and thick eyebrows that are almost too intense to be real. But, all of that is only a temporary distraction until Youngjae has a chance to lock eyes with him for the first time in several months. Anger begins boiling underneath his skin, threatening to melt him into a pool of despise.

“I have a favor to ask,” Youngjae says. He’s determined to look Jaebum directly in the eyes as not to elicit anything like pity, although he’s not doing so hot at keeping his emotions in check while he does it. Wind and drizzle is slapping against his exposed face and causing him to shiver all the way down to his bone.

“Favor?” Jaebum squints in amusement, angling his chin in a way that it’s just a little higher than what Youngjae is able to stand. The former then laughs, scoffs, really, and shakes his head like he’s remembered something. “Oh, yeah. Your little group, right? I saw you guys were low on funds. A shame, really. And there’s a competition coming up, right? Wow, you all must be heartbroken. What to do about that?”

Even without the fake-concerned look, Youngjae can detect the tone in Jaebum’s voice quicker than quick. He’s mocking them, mocking him. If it were Youngjae alone he would’ve been out of here already. But, it’s not just Youngjae. There are six talented people that won’t get a chance to show how amazing they are if Youngjae can’t swallow his pride now. His fists itch to squish Jaebum’s face into a runny pulp. He hates him to his very core.

“I was wondering,” Youngjae starts sweetly, still staring directly at Jaebum and trying his best not to scowl too hard, “since you’re the president of the Student Council and all. The headmaster’s son and whatnot…”

Jaebum nods along sympathetically, no doubt enjoying this thoroughly.

“Is there a way we can come up with ten thousand dollars? Do we have to take out a loan from the school or something?” Youngjae finally looks away, eyes flittering to the ground out of sheer embarrassment. He expects Jaebum to drag out this conversation before ultimately slamming a ‘no’ in Youngjae’s face as the grand finale. What he doesn’t expect is the hand that comes up to caress his cheek, thumb sponging lightly across his jaw. It tugs upward and Youngjae is forced to stare into Jaebum’s coffee brown eyes. The gloomy weather paints an ethereal coat of glimmer across his irises and Youngjae all of a sudden can’t look away. He’s reminding him of a happier, nicer time and, oh no, that can’t happen.

“There are so, so many ways to get ten thousand dollars, beautiful.” Jaebum pokes his tongue of his lips and drags it across them in a way so lewd yet discreet that Youngjae thinks he might lose his mind. His eyes can’t help but flicker toward the sight and back up again as fast as lightning. However, not fast enough for Jaebum to miss, and he doesn’t, even smirks a little just to say ‘i caught you’. It’s both nothing and something at the same time. “You may not like them very much though.”

Youngjae might cry.

“I just happen to know one way that isn’t too bad at all.”

No, he’s going to throw up. Don’t say it. He can’t say it. Please.

“Let’s try again, yeah?” his voice and face is so sincere when he says it that Youngjae slips momentarily into inner turmoil. Once upon a time he didn’t have to doubt everything Jaebum told him. Once upon a time they were a happy, healthy couple with a promising future. Unfortunately, happily ever after’s only exist in fairytales, and as close as that is to delusion, it was never close enough.

This is a business transaction, he tells himself, no more, no less than that.

“Fine.”

What has he just done?

The next meeting comes around with more excitement in the air. Wei seems passive as usual, but Youngjae knows he’s just as happy at the news as anyone else is. As hot and unbearable as it is to wear the choir robes over their stiff uniforms, they do anyway. The moisture collecting in the crevices of his body is more than worth it.

Wheein, an upperclassman, leads the meeting. Youngjae was voted president based on participation alone. He isn’t, by any means, the most experienced out of them. Wheein has been singing since she was in diapers, and Hyojung is the ultimate personification of an eighth note. They practice a few songs they already know for the first three rounds of the competition and begin working through a new one for when or if they make it to finals. Everyone sounds like they’re in their best condition, which maybe has something to do with the renewed excitement.

Yugyeom, the youngest out of all of them, and the most quiet, takes a bass solo. Youngjae fills the tenor solo, and Hyojung, who has the ability to implode glasses, takes a soprano one.

The meeting doesn’t officially start until Hayi and Jieun come rushing in, faces flushed probably because they were running here, again, from basketball practice. They look like twins immediately due to them both having black hair and it being up in the same fashion, and the both are wearing uniforms still. It wears off soon though, when they come back from the bathroom after a few minutes, in separate clothes and separate faces and separate people, and wow, look what nerves can do to a person.

It’s business as usual and Youngjae can’t be more grateful for it. They are all in a circle at the bottom of the risers, working on their positioning (which is going to look a bit weak due to the numbers, whatever) with only a few minutes left of practice, when the one person Youngjae wishes wouldn’t comes in. All heads turn in the direction of the door, now full with the stench of arrogance. Youngjae groans quietly when the members stare at him.

“What’s he doing here?”

“He’s just..uhm, just going-” Youngjae stutters stupidly, before Jaebum cuts in.

“Since I’m the one funding this little expenditure I thought I would check you guys out, see where my money is going and all.” He crosses his arms pompously.

If it isn’t bad enough that he has to go to a party Friday night as a “redebut” of their relationship, Jaebum had made it clear that Youngjae wasn’t to have much freedom. Of course he hadn’t said that explicitly, but the way he was going through the younger’s calendar, looking for any conflictions, said way more than he might have thought it would. Now he’s checking up on Youngjae during practice for some reason. It usually wouldn’t have gotten to Youngjae. During the latter of their already crumbling relationship Youngjae had grown talented at ignoring Jaebum, pretending he wasn’t watching over him like a hawk. What he can’t stand, however, is how the older is staring at him like Youngjae owes him something, like he’s just lent someone an object of his and is waiting to get it back.

“You guys can figure this part out,” Youngjae says, gesturing to the blank sheet of paper where they should already have a plan drawn up. Honestly, they are a little behind. It’s alright, though, because at least they have the music settled. Positioning is the least important matter they have yet to sort. Youngjae stands despite the looks of confusion the members are giving him. Wei, who leans over to let Youngjae out of the circle, is the only one who isn’t looking at him like wings are sprouting from his neck. He just nods at him as Youngjae is making his way out and the older nods back.

He hears them whispering the second he frees himself. Who is he to be upset, though? It’s big news. Youngjae’s old boyfriend shows up at practice one day and picks up like he used to. What isn’t there to be curious about?

Youngjae bites back the curse word on the tip of his tongue at the triumphant look Jaebum is fixing him, crossed arms looking more infuriating than before. He pulls him out into the hallway, pushes really, because Jaebum is just letting himself be thrown around by Youngjae. If he really wanted to protest he has the muscles for it. Youngjae isn’t a weakling by any means, he just doesn’t have the workout regimen Jaebum has. This is only yet another aspect that tips their relationship’s scale a little more toward Jaebum, as it has always been. Youngjae shakes his head lightly as soon as the thought penetrates his thoughts deep enough for him to actually be conscious of what he’s thinking. He doesn’t need to get caught up.

“I need this space for us, and us alone. You’re pissing the others off,” Youngjae says with half a mind to poke the other as he’s saying it. He chooses not to.

“Why? You wanna flirt with that Chinese Adonis without me around?” Jaebum asks daringly, shoving his hands deep in his jeans and glaring at Youngjae. If Youngjae wasn’t mad enough a few seconds ago, the anger grips him in an instant and he actually does poke Jaebum in the chest. Hard.

“Wei?” Youngjae scoffs. “I don’t like Wei. And I don’t like you either.”

“If you don’t like him so much, why do you keep him around?” Jaebum asks.

“It’s different,” Youngjae says. Why does he need to explain himself?

“Try me.”

“Okay.” Youngjae crosses his own arms, glaring up at Jaebum now. “I don’t like Wei in a romantic sense, but he’s a good friend. I don’t like you on a basic human level. Like when people say they don’t like bugs or dirty snow.”

Youngjae is taken aback when Jaebum steps closer and takes the younger’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, gripping roughly, all in one swift movement. He stares directly into Youngjae’s eyes, his own flickering between black and dark brown as a trick of the light.

“I love you, Youngjae.”

Youngjae hopes Jaebum can’t feel the tremor running through him. He is lost for a moment in the network of emotions all surging through his body. A large part of him wants to push Jaebum even because he isn’t scared of the older. Why should he be? Another, less dominant part is a little shaken by the harsh voice and rough tug that he’s never had to deal with before. It’s all old and new at the same time. And, one puny voice buried under two years worth of frustration and anger wants to fall into Jaebum’s arms, to drown in the brown eyes that were once full of sincerity and devotion. It doesn’t take long to snap the vertebrae holding that voice together. It crumbles back down to its foundation when Youngjae has dismissed it. He pulls himself together enough to rip the older’s hand from his face and throw it away.

“Well, I don’t love you.” Is his neck supposed to be warm like this? What’s wrong with his throat?

“You will,” Jaebum takes one step back, holding the younger’s rapt attention in the palm of his hand, “just how you used to”

Youngjae doesn’t say anything. He can’t think of what to say. He feels too nauseous to speak.

“Remember. Friday night. I’ll pick you up. Dress nice.” And then he’s walking down the dim hallway. His back disappears around a corner.

They’re no longer whispering when Youngjae goes back inside after closing the door. The plan is all drawn up and they are finding their places. Youngjae takes a quick look at the sheet before walking over to his place at the end beside Jieun and in front of Yugyeom.

Practice runs smoothly enough. Youngjae fumbles a couple of times as his mind is wrapped around Jaebum’s cryptic signals, and Wei picks up slack wherever Youngjae drops it. They make a great team.

Yugyeom and Wei hang back after practice finishes.

If Youngjae thought they stuck around for more than a ride he might have been touched.

Autumn is in full swing. It’s raining and too cold to stand. They all hurry inside of Youngjae’s car trying to beat a gust of wind before it takes off some skin. Youngjae shouts at Yugyeom to quit shaking his head like a wet dog, but it’s already too late as his backset is now a proper swimming pool.

“Neanderthal,” he grumbles as he starts the engine.

“I heard that,” Yugyeom says pointedly, glaring at him in the rearview mirror.

“That’s the point.”

Wednesday is uneventful, as is Thursday.

Jaebum surprisingly flies below the radar. He only approaches Youngjae after school at his car, and even then he only greets him with a ‘hello, beautiful’. Youngjae hasn’t vomited yet. He takes that as a success.

Most importantly, Jaebum hasn’t tried to kiss him.

Youngjae wouldn’t be able to keep his lunch down if he did. Once upon a mystical, magical time when Youngjae was in love with a boy, two years ago, he couldn’t wait for Jaebum pick him up so they could go to his room and make out until his mom blew up his phone with panicked texts about how late it was. He would swoon at the thought of his mom visiting his grandparents over long weekends so he could sleep over at Jaebum’s apartment, drown in too-big shirts of his, and relish in the pet names the older was fond of lavishing him with.

He was never simply ‘Youngjae’.

When Jaebum felt particularly romantic, he was ‘my love’ or ‘the heart to my beat’. On days when he snuggled up to Youngjae like the younger was the last bit of oxygen in existence, he was ‘honey bunches of oats’ or ‘pumpkin’.

That was then and this is now.

Youngjae is riding in the passenger seat of Jaebum’s black Audi A3. The navy button up and black jean outfit he’s stuffed in is uncomfortable on every level.

Jaebum, on the other hand, looks completely at ease. He even hums a little when they stop at a red light. He makes no effort to hide his scowl when the older reaches over to slide his free hand up Youngjae’s thigh, stopping just short of his crotch and patting. Youngjae doesn’t make any motion to smack it away. He just glares at the side of Jaebum’s head until he turns to look, exhaling in a breathy laugh and removing it, finally.

“You’d look lovelier if you stopped frowning,” Jaebum comments.

“You’d look lovelier if you stopped breathing,” Youngjae snarks back.

“You know, I love that about you,” Jaebum says. “You say wild shit. You don’t care that I’m heir to an enterprise. You say stuff anyway.”

Youngjae widely disregards the condescent in the other’s voice and smiles placatingly. “And I always will.”

Jaebum spares a glance in Youngjae’s direction despite the fact that they are driving 70+ miles/hr down the freeway. “Stay with me forever.”

“I’d rather eat glass.”

The party is just as grand and mind-numbing as he had imagined it would be. It’s at the pool house of one of Jaebum’s many rich friends. The music is loud, the people are drunk and slinking off to do things they’ll regret in the morning, and the interior is packed, as is the pool. There isn’t enough oxygen to go around.

“I see Jinyoung.” Jaebum takes Youngjae’s hands and intertwines their fingers. He pulls him over to a table stuffed near the back by some glass doors leading to a backyard where even more people are dancing their youth away.

“Hey, Jinyoung.” Jaebum does the bro-shake with the other guy, still holding tight to Youngjae’s hand. He vaguely remembers Jinyoung. Jaebum would talk about him sometimes, but nothing memorable. Now that he thinks about it, Jaebum rarely said anything memorable. He occasionally blabbered, and Youngjae listened like his words were gold because he had never been showered with such unending affection before. He couldn’t imagine a world where what Jaebum said wouldn’t be important.

“Youngjae,” Jinyoung greets him with a million-dollar smile, teeth as sharp as a piranha’s. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Have they even met?

“Yeah,” he says awkwardly.

“Back together again, eh?”

Youngjae wants to hurl. Jaebum is none the wiser, though. He nods.

“I’m happy for you.” He smiles, raising a red cup in commemoration.

“Speaking of happiness, Jinyoung.” Jaebum lets their hands part and walks closer to the table where cups are plotted like colorful landmines on top of a white cover. “Got any liquid fire? I could use some ammunition. My baby’s back and I wanna party.”

“The good stuff is in back. Let me show you.” Jinyoung leads him, pausing to wait for Jaebum when the man shoots Youngjae an apologetic smile and mouths for him to ‘wait there’. He does. It’s not like he would know where he was going if he tried to wander off, and the only place he wants to go right now is home.

Jaebum returns twenty minutes later with a cup of something acrid smelling and looking a little happier than when he left. He throws his arm around Youngjae and laughs loudly. He smells heavily of booze. Another guy is with him this time. He looks thick and sharp underneath the light. Uninterested as well. Jaebum shouts to him that this is his friend, Jackson.

“Jae,” he hiccups, “you should get something, too. I can have Jinyoung mix some stuff that I’m sure you’ll like. He’s, like, a wizard when it comes to mixing. Too good for his own damn good.”

“I’m fine.” He’s not.

“You’re having fun at least?” the man giggles, unbecoming.

“Sure.” That’s a lie. Why is he here?

“I missed you, Jae. I wasn’t the same without you, y’know?”

“I’m going to the bathroom.” Youngjae twists out of Jaebum’s grasps and legs it for the stairs. He doesn’t look back and he doesn’t stop. Instead of trying to find the bathroom he finds a bedroom instead. It’s clear, is free of people, and when he closes the door tight he can muffle the music a little.

He walks to the bed using moonlight to route his trail over. He sits on it and draws his knees to his chest, scooting back until he can feel the headboard behind his spine.

How much time passes?

How much does he cry?

Maybe an hour. He blinks wearily at his phone screen. It’s late. Too late.

The bedroom door opens.

The music bumps louder.

It closes.

The music dulls again.

Something glass thumps onto the floor and he can smell Jaebum before the man even opens his mouth. Familiar cologne soaked in alcohol actually makes Youngjae gag.

Youngjae gets off the bed. He wipes his moist face with the back of his hand. Jaebum walks right up to him and grabs Youngjae.

“What are you doing, hyung?”

“You always wanted to be with me, Jae,” Jaebum spits through clenched teeth, hands tight around Youngjae’s biceps. The latter can’t see as well as he would like. What he can see very well is the reflection of the moon in Jaebum’s widened eyes. He can also see a little bit of danger and urgency and mania.

Youngjae is so close to vomiting. A mysterious itch has started in his throat, working its way up from the base to the tip, coating the roof of his mouth in unbearable heat. What if he passes out? He’s never done it before, and so he isn’t sure what it’s supposed to feel like before he does, but if the light headedness that is growing stronger and stronger by the second is any indicator then he is well on his way of losing consciousness.

There’s a first for everything.

“You wanted me. I picked you up from school and you always wanted to go to my house. We kissed. I loved you. I loved you so damn hard. What changed?”

Youngjae doesn’t recall ever feeling unsafe around Jaebum. Sure, he’s felt angry, annoyed, upset, enraged even. But never unsafe. Never to the point where he feared for his safety because of something Jaebum might do. His head fills with pressure when Jaebum forces a knee between the younger’s legs, met with much resistance.

“Nothing changed,” Youngjae says finally, legs shaking along with his voice as he has to fight to get the words out. Jaebum’s eyes are pools of black fire and Youngjae is close enough to be singed. He struggles to keep his distance, to keep from being incinerated by the flames. “You were always the same. And I kept letting you be the same. Absolutely nothing changed. Except, now, I’m awake. I’m not a vulnerable little boy anymore. This isn’t love, Jaebum. You don’t know what love is.”

“You don’t know shit about me. I fucking love you!”

The snap of skin against skin resonates in the dark, desolate space. Jaebum releases Youngjae and the younger stumbles back, only regaining his balance once he can feel the pinch of a wooden chest in his side. He leans heavily on it for support, halfway lost in a daze and halfway hyperconscious of every little breath leaving Jaebum’s lips. He touches the place Youngjae slapped his cheek lightly, raking over the skin with trembling fingers.

He looks like a handsome devil; moonlight splashes over one side of him, reaching its effervescent claws only so far across his chest before dissolving into blackness, only jumping to a new, unmarked place when Jaebum moves. Which he isn’t doing much of. He seems deeply disturbed by the red mark sprouting on his face, glowing a deathly shade. He most definitely can’t see it, but he probably feels its warmth, assuming what Youngjae can see with his own eyes.

Before Jaebum can say or do anything Youngjae gropes his way over to the door, only fumbling a little when his foot nudges the bottle Jaebum had dropped earlier. He opens the door and the muffled bass multiplies until the music nearly drowns Jaebum’s broken question.

“Why don’t you love me?”

Youngjae falters for a moment. His ears salvage a piece of his voice that is aching. He thinks he hears snags as of ‘baby boy’ and ‘pumpkin’ between layers of destruction. His heart thumps quickly before he can stop it. Jaebum is fixable. His soul isn’t completely marred. Youngjae can get him sober, shower him with love, cure the black part of his heart that is tainted with memories of deceit and hinders him from trusting others.

Then he remembers that he can’t. He tried before and this is the product of his effort. He can’t prevent Jaebum from spiralling into a deep abyss. Jaebum has to want to save himself first.

“I could ask you that same question.”

He lets the bass swallow him whole.

As expected, Jaebum doesn’t call him the next day. Or the day after that, or the day after that. A week passes in complete silence. Youngjae doesn’t see Jaebum at school, either. They didn’t exactly run into each other every other period before, but Youngjae is consciously looking for him and can’t find him. Not only is it strange, it’s unnerving. Youngjae knows that he did nothing wrong. Jaebum is an asshole. He deserves whatever self-pitying party he is surely throwing for himself somewhere to not be at school. If he thinks Youngjae is the same idiot that will go chasing after him and beg him to forgive him for something he didn’t do, then he’s sadly mistaken. Those days are over.

A month crawls by.

Jaebum is still not in school.

Even weirder, Jackson comes looking for him during Calc. He’s not upset at the disturbance. He could use a break from numbers for a little. What is unsettling about the entire experience is that Jackson had acted like Youngjae was a fly the first time they meet. So, why does he need him all of a sudden?

“Do you have a slip?” his teacher asks, pushing her glasses further up her nose bridge and sticking her hand out. Since Youngjae knows this is bull (Jackson isn’t an office rep, he probably doesn’t even know where the main office is) he recognizes the other’s pause as time he needs to think up a lie. She must take it as intimidation though.

“It’s an emergency. He didn’t have time to write a slip,” he pauses, breathes deep, for drama, Youngjae assumes. “It’s about his mom.”

Youngjae bristles. Who else has Jaebum been telling his personal business to?

His teacher looks at him with concern. “You should go.”

Youngjae hesitates for half a second. He has the choice to go or not go and expose Jackson’s lie right now. He ends shoving papers and notebooks into his backpack and swinging it over his shoulder, though. He has a few words he’d like to give Jaebum. That’s definitely what this little show is about afterall. Without a doubt.

“You should get your coat,” Jackson tells him once they are down the hall, near the exit. “We won’t be coming back.”

Youngjae complies with everything Jackson asks of him. They get in Jackson’s truck. Youngjae wants nothing more than to ride in silence. Jackson has other ideas. He turns the radio all of the way down.

“He’s a mess right now,” he says, looking over at him whenever he can afford it, switching between Youngjae and the road. Youngjae just looks forward, chest tight.

“I figured as much.”

“You’re his boyfriend. Don’t you care?” Jackson’s shoulders inflate a little. “He’s dying without you. Can’t you see that?”

“He’s killing himself,” Youngjae says back, temple beginning to throb and eyes closing in frustration. Jackson goes quiet after that. It seems like they’ve only been riding for five minutes when the car comes to a slow stop. Youngjae opens his eyes.

They are in front of Jaebum’s fancy apartment complex. Great.

“Go up. He needs you.” Jackson sticks out his hand. A silver key is dangling from his forefinger.

“He needs professional help. He’s a raging alcoholic hiding behind his money and his friends. I’m a charm to him. Something he can hang on his backpack and fiddle with occasionally. He doesn’t need me. I don’t need him either.”

“Please.” Jackson sighs, shaking the key insistently. “Just go up there before he does something bad. Please.”

He takes the key and slings his backpack over his shoulders. He slams the car door to show Jackson that he doesn’t need this, any of it. He marches right past the affronted doorman and boards the elevator. Classical music blares out of a speaker somewhere. The elevator ticks as hands on the face on the glass case tick farther to the left, higher and higher. His soul dissolves with every tick. What is he doing?

He steps off the elevator when the doors open on the tenth floor. The door of his flat looks normal. There is no hint that a man is having an emotional breakdown behind it. The key clicks in the lock and the door opens. Youngjae steps inside.

Nothing can prepare him for the smell of…nothing. It’s clean, white, a little dark, but, hey, he imagined much worse. Almost nothing seems out of the ordinary until Youngjae can hear it. Faint crying. All of the blinds are drawn, which makes the space look a little dusty. He can find his way around just fine, though.

Youngjae opens the door to Jaebum’s bedroom. Again. All seems calm except for the shivering lump underneath the covers. He walks over and pokes the shape.

“Hyung?”

“Jae?” He sounds so horribly broken.

“How are you?” He peels back the covers a bit, just enough for Jaebum’s head to appear, face flushed in some places and ashen in others.

“Better now that you’re here.”

Maybe it’s pity that causes him to climb in beside the man. His fingers freeze. What is he doing?

“I need you,” Jaebum whines, wrapping his arms around Youngjae’s torso. Youngjae breaks a little inside. The wall he built around himself to keep Jaebum and his toxins out is slowly disintegrating. He doesn’t need this. Jaebum is a lonely drunk, he’ll say anything. He doesn’t need this. What is he doing? He doesn’t need this-

“Did you guys win?” Jaebum asks. His warm face is snuggling into Youngjae’s stomach. The younger is still sitting up in bed while Jaebum is making these nondiscreet tugs for him to lie down as well. He really shouldn’t. He might never get up again.

“We didn’t even make it past preliminaries. Those rich bastards are good as hell.”

“Good. Now you won’t leave me.” He sounds pretty proud of himself.

“That’s insensitive as fuck, hyung.” He’s not as mad as he sounds. Or maybe he is. Who knows?

“I need you, Jae, I love you.”

“You don’t know what love is.”

“Then teach me.” Jaebum gazes up at Youngjae. His eyes are really sad, so damn sad. “Teach me what love is, Jae. I really need you.”

Youngjae doesn’t need this. Jaebum doesn’t know what he’s talking about. The alcohol is talking for him. Jaebum doesn’t know what love is. He can’t handle it. Youngjae is burning up on the inside because he feels like the bad guy when all he really wants is someone who he can depend on and trust. Those aren’t bad things.

Why does Jaebum look a child he needs to protect? Why does he want to protect him?

Does Youngjae know what love is? Maybe. Maybe love is needing someone like trees need carbon dioxide. Maybe it’s that feeling he can’t really describe when he pulls a muscle and relief drowns him in comfort afterward. Maybe it’s knowing that regardless of how ugly someone is they need to be helped and he wants to help them.

Maybe it’s wanting to protect someone.

“Teach me, Jae. I’m so sorry. I won’t do it again. Please, I’m so sorry. Teach me.”

Maybe it’s something like that.

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted on 7fics. please enjoy!


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